


Best and Worst

by Jetainia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Off-screen death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 22:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: The best clothes for the worst day.





	Best and Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Houses Competition  
> Category: Themed (Love or Love Lost)  
> Prompt: Best robes  
> Beta: Dark Angel of Sorrow Returns

The day was bright and sunny, just like the last time he had donned these robes. They were his best robes, kept pristine in charms and at the back of his wardrobe. He thought it rather ironic that his best robes were the robes that he wore for funerals. Fred would have loved that, but Fred hadn't lived long enough to see George need funeral robes; Fred was the reason George had insisted on having the best robes he could.

George examined himself in the mirror once more, ignoring the mirror as it said, "You look very dashing today."

He imagined he could hear Angelina saying almost the same thing—though with more innuendo—and he smiled softly at the thought. Angelina had been his guiding light after Fred died; the rest of his large family had tried, but they had all been suffering through their own sadness at the time. Angelina had been there for him; she was so strong after the war and had been right next to Harry as they rebuilt Hogwarts but always made time for George.

When George had been near catatonic from the death of his twin, she had fed him nutritious food to keep him alive and developed a system where he could tell her what he needed without saying anything. The DA coins were modified; and if he needed her while she was out, all he had to do was heat up the coin in her pocket and she would come. He loved her, he always would, even though she was now with Fred; and it didn't seem as though he would be seeing either of them for some time.

There was a knock on the door and George took in a deep breath before going to answer it; there was Harry. George hadn't wanted his brothers or his parents—he knew they would coddle him while Harry would simply smile sadly and stand by his side, offering silent comfort. And that was what he did. Harry smiled sadly at the remaining Weasley twin and offered his arm for side-along apparition. It was never a good idea to apparate when you were in a state of high emotions, after all.

The funeral was over and George stood next to the patch of ground that now held the body of his wife. Harry was standing under a tree a few paces away and letting George have these last few moments. He heaved out a shaky breath as his fingers played across the headstone, tracing the letters that were engraved across it. _Here lies Angelina Weasley, 25 October 1977 – 15 September 2008, Beloved Wife, Daughter and Friend._

George bowed his head and remembered Angelina as she had been, full of life and always teasing him. Always there for him when he had needed her, always ready to distract him from the dark thoughts that crept up but also willing to let him be alone when he needed it. He stood up and looked over at the headstone nearest to where he stood.

Fred's headstone was as pristine as it had been when it had been placed in the ground ten years ago. He smiled and said, "You take care of her, Forge."

He turned away and walked over to where Harry was waiting, taking the offered arm and looking back over the graveyard before it disappeared in a whirl and was replaced by his living room. "Are you going to be okay, George?"

George nodded and Harry accepted the answer without trying to dig deeper. With a comforting hug, Harry left George alone to his thoughts. George smoothed down his robes and then almost immediately stripped them off his body. He had no desire to wear them any longer than he had to. He left them in a pile and went to have a shower.

When he returned, he glanced at the heap and sighed. Picking them up he carefully placed them in the specially charmed bag and hung them in their rightful place-the very back of his wardrobe. With that, his best robes were shoved out of sight and forgotten about, only to be taken out when he had to attend another funeral. The best robes, used for the worst of occasions.


End file.
